The Crane in the Willow Tree
by SleepingWithMusicalNirvanaDays
Summary: The fiendish phychologist and pawn of Ra's al Ghul is seemingly mono-emotioned, but after he stumbles upon Ebony Willow, we must ask "Does Jonathan Crane have a heart?" Jonathan CranexOC
1. Escape

**Note: This story is gonna be sorta like a songfic. I'm gonna give a song and suggest you listen to it while reading the chapter.  
Chapter 1's Song: Christian's Inferno-Green Day**

**Author's Note: This is my first story published, and is just a little taste of what may come! Please R&R! Thanks**

Chapter 1:

Escape

Jonathan Crane~

The lights shining down on me were too bright. Gaudy florescence. I blinked a few times, my eyes watering. As soon as I regained focus, I found myself in a room with four other men all in Official uniform: white suits with black accents, like buttons and lapels, wrists, the trim. It was finished with a black uniform hat.

I took in my surroundings; a white padded cell, a single white cot. I laughed. They didn't even have me in a straightjacket. The fools.

"Doctor, please, _enlighten _me on what you seem to find funny. I'd love to know." One of the Officers said, a bit sarcastically.

I lifted my arms out to the sides a bit, gesturing to my surroundings. "All this for harmless, undisruptive me? I keep to myself and do my job running the Arkham Asylum. That's all." _That you know._ I added in my head.

"I am truly sorry Doctor, but I was unaware that you did not realize you've been found guilty of the murder of five men and have been declared insane." A different Officer tells me.

"No, I do realize that, but I am asking _why_ you would suspect anything, and _why_ the judge had found me guilty. You have no evidence, any connection that ties the crime to me. You don't _know_ anything. You can't contain me. No matter where you put me, I will always get out." _The Association will make sure of it. _

"Jesus, you really are insane." The head of the government brigade standing in front of me, the Official, exclaimed.

I began laughing. Full-throttle laughter. I had the funniest thought. "Ah, yes. How peculiar. The insane running the asylum. Now, what are you going to do about that?" I got out after my laughter calmed down. I had to be careful about that. I'd heard of a new guy in town; The Joker. People said he laughed at anything, including his own pain. By my definition, and it should count considering my degree in psychology, _that_ man was insane. I, however, was not.

"Well, for starters, we're going to lock you up so you don't have chance to cause any more trouble. How's that sound?"

I smirked and cautiously clicked a button inside my sleeve, making sure they didn't see the action. Then with a smile I said, "I grant you my luck with that, because you don't know me at all. The next time you want to lock me up, make sure you do. Otherwise, it could end up badly for you." The Official opened his mouth to ask what I meant by that, but the toxin knocked them out before he could get a word out.

"Now that worked _too _well." I smiled to myself. I then relieved all men of their handguns and stashed them under my jacket for future use. I turned around in the threshold and bowed to the unconscious figures.

"Thank-you. You have all been _most_ co-operative." I walked out of the room, down the hall, and out of the asylum's front doors. I breathed in a lung-full of fresh air. Time to get on with my day.

**Aaaaah! I am so sorry that the chapter is so short! I will try to write longer one's in the future. This is sort of more like a prologue than a chapter itself, so that is one excuse for it being so sort. **

**Thanks so much for reading!**

**Cat ;)**


	2. The Break In

**Chapter 2's Song: Unnatural Selection**

Chapter 2:

The Break-In

Ebony Willow~

In the late afternoon daylight, I sat in my room. I sat at my old maple desk actually, staring at old Amnesty Urgent Action letters written, but never sent. These letters used to be relevant, before the Society shut Amnesty International down. They claimed the organization wasn't fair. That they had been picking and choosing which injustice cases to take and which to leave for another time. After all, no matter how well-oiled Amnesty was, they couldn't track every injustice in the world at once.

The matter had been brought to court. Amnesty argued that they did their best, but as the Society had said they couldn't track all the injustice at once. But the cases they _did _choose were the most severe of all, so that when those injustices had been tackled they could proceed to attend to the less severe happenings.

In the end, Society won, as they always did it seemed.

Our city has been invaded by the Society and has been reduced to almost nothing. To almost the state of the Society's own country. But Gotham is strong. We won't go down without a fight. As far as I know, freedom has been out of the question since before I was born, since the Society started invading. But in the past five years, things have been getting increasingly worse.

I sat at my desk silently fuming for so long that by the time I came back to reality the sun had set.

I stood up and groaned as I stretched my spine. Then I went downstairs to make myself a nice, warm, cup of tea. Green tea sounded most comforting at the moment.

As I came down the stairs, I could hear my television still on from before. I decided to catch up on the news since I'd missed it this morning, as I waited for my water to boil. The rerun of today's breaking news came up as I switched the channel. "Human Psychologist and Behaviourist Dr. Jonathan Crane Escapes Custody This Morning" read the headline. Some reporter intern started going on, slightly less professionally than the regular, about the precautions we should take for our own safety. I turned it off immediately. I didn't want to hear it. Not that it frightened me or anything, it just bothered me. It bothered me because I did not believe that Crane was all evil.

After my cup of tea was ready, I decided to read in bed for a while. About half an hour later I fell asleep.

Something woke me up. I don't know what it was, but I had that feeling of wrong and my eyes flew open. I lay still in bed, not daring to move, barely breathing.

My room was on the ground level, and something, _someone_, passed outside my window. I glanced at the clock. '1:26' am it told me. I looked back at the window. The shadow had returned. And then slowly, slowly the window started to open.

I silently climbed to the opposite side of the bed and dropped to the floor. I crawled along the expanse of floor that led to my closet then stood up and climbed into it. I held the door tightly closed. Not more than a moment later, I heard the tell-tale thump of feet on the floor. My intruder was in the room.

Each footstep they took brought them closer to my hiding place. They kept walking, so sure of themselves, closer and closer. They stopped right outside the closet door.

The next thing I knew the door was open and I was at gunpoint. I started to scream about the gun pointed at my head but stopped short. I knew the man who was pointing the gun at me. Not personally, but his crystal blue eyes and dark hair that fell in a uniform wave down his neck were unmistakable.

"Crane." I breathed. He gave me a wicked grin.

"Yes. Doctor Jonathan Crane, I am. Human behaviourist and psychologist, along with runner of the Arkham Asylum." He laughed. "Am I really that famous?"

I gulped. I needed to think rationally. "Doctor…do you mind telling me why you're here?"  
Still pointing the gun he said, "I need to…appropriate your house. I am on the run, you know."

I said the first thing that came to mind, my one desire if I were to die in this house tonight. But hopefully it will get that gun out of my face. "Um, Dr. Crane, if you don't mind, I'd like to get some tea," I put my hands above my head. "I don't intent to run." He gave me a doubtful look, but moved the gun enough to let me pass. He followed me to the kitchen.

Being the mayor's assistant I had basically unlimited access to all files on basically anything to do with Gotham. I'd dug up some files on Jonathan Crane before, because he had interested me. I studied him, unbeknown, for a very long time. On the verge of being caught, I came to my conclusion and never mentioned his name again.

My theory was that Crane was psychologically disturbed, yes, but he was more emotionally disturbed. I believed that lack of kindness and compassion probably damaged his feelings at an early age, which drove him to do some of the things he has done, and ultimately resulted in insanity. He needed to be given trust before I would get it in return. Nobody had probably ever trusted him before, and vice versa. The thought of trust was completely alien to him.

I am about to test that theory. I really hope that it doesn't get me killed. But I'm a human right's activist, and stand against injustice. I am not going to make the world more full of hate, or let hateful things fill it up when I can do something. And I know I can do something about this. And if it gets me killed, so be it. I tried. Maybe I could even be considered a martyr then.

In a neutral voice I said, "Would you like to sit down?" I gestured to the kitchen table. He sat down. There was silence while the water boiled then the clanging of ceramic cups as I retrieved two from the cupboard. I grabbed two tea bags and stuck one in each mug. Then I poured hot water over the tea bags and turned around to find a very vulnerable-looking Crane inspecting his gun. "I hope you like bergamot." I said startling him. He quickly replaced his look of vulnerability with one of suspicion. I sat down and pushed a mug his way. I quietly sipped mine while he sniffed his. "You can have my cup if you want. You saw me drink from it." Cautiously he put his cup down and slid it slowly towards me. I replaced it with mine. He waited until I took a sip from his former cup, then a couple minutes more before he drank from his cup and was satisfied neither of us was going to keel over from poison.

"You're wanted." I say nonchalantly.

Crane laughs a bit. "Yes. I have already figured that detail out myself, Ms…?"

"Willow. Ebony Willow." I replied.

"Then, yes. I have already figured that out Ms. Willow." I couldn't help but laugh. "What?" He asked, his eyes hardening.

"I'm sorry. It's just that you're being so formal." He waited for me to explain the humour of the situation. I sighed. "You broke into my house. Normal criminals would not do that. Actually, most criminals wouldn't do a lot of the things you've done so far."  
He gave me a look that would freeze a viper in its tracks. "Well, Ms. Willow," he spit out my name. "I am not _most_ criminals, am I?"

"No, you most definitely are not." I said softly. "Although I do wonder if you are not most criminals, why didn't you go home?"

His eyes flashed with barely contained anger. "I couldn't even if I wanted to.

I pretended not to notice his extreme mood swing. "Right, because that's the first place they'd look. The last place they'd look for someone aiding an outlaw is the mayor's secretary's house." I said, feeling foolish.

"Yes and no. You are right about the fact that this is the last place they'd look. But wrong…" he looked at the tiled floor, his eyes like solid ice. "I don't have a 'home'. My 'home is the asylum." When I gave him a funny look he explained further, "I am not an inmate. I just sleep there. Then in the morning I wake up and get on with my life. I throw myself into my patients-"

"Experiments." I interrupted.

He gave me a cold look but carried on, "I throw myself into my work and try to forget."

I looked at him. Really looked at him for the first time. I took in his perfect posture, his eyes that darted to a different location every ten seconds or so, his left hand clutching the cup of tea, his right clenched by his gun, knuckles white, his carefully neutral expression as if he has something to hide.

"Jonathan." When he didn't respond I said it again.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I haven't been called that in a long time." He looked down almost shy.

"It's fine. Now, if I were a sensible person I try to distract you and then call the police. I should call the police. But then again a sensible sentence should never contain the word 'should'."

He looked at me with a mix of amusement, curiosity, and confusion.

"How did you know I was in the closet?" I asked suddenly.

He shrugged slightly. "I'm a specialist in human behaviour. You weren't in your bed, yet it was unmade. The time suggested you had been sleeping. The most common place for someone to hide during a break-in is the bathroom or the closet, and since the closet was closer…" He said almost absent-mindedly, as if he were giving the answer to 2+2. This statement made me sound as if I were nothing but ordinary. Mundane. And I couldn't figure out why it stung.

I decided to change the subject. "You'll sleep on the couch. I'll take the week off work to make sure you don't burn my house down," he glared at me for that. "And you can borrow some of my dad's old clothes."

Now he looked at me with interest. "I understand you live alone, given that you are a grown woman, but…won't he mind if he ever found out?"

"He isn't here to mind." I say quietly. He tries very hard not to show any emotion, but the tiniest bit of surprise leaks through and shows in his eyes. I stand up. "Good night, Jonathan." I say walking back to my room and falling back to sleep. But not before picking up the gun and bringing it with me, taking out the ammunition, and hiding both pieces in different locked locations.


	3. The Mystery

**Chapter 3's Song: MK Ultra-Muse**

Chapter 3:

The Mystery

Jonathan Crane~

Why did I tell her that?

I mentally kicked myself for telling Ebony about my asylum arrangement. I also mentally kicked myself for not being able to understand her. Usually, I could tell a person's motives right away, but Ebony…I got about as much from her as her name suggested.

At least I only told her half the story. I can't believe how careless I'd been, am being.

I finished my tea. Tea? Why do I have tea? Oh, right. Ebony made it for me. Why? I have no clear idea. Her actions totally threw me. I didn't know what to do. That's why I had told her about the asylum. Why are my thoughts so disoriented? Why? That's all I can think. Why, why, why?

I needed to get myself together. I needed a plan. Because, the fact was, I didn't have a plan. And that was bad for my reputation.

'Dr. Crane, the intelligent specialist in human psychology and behaviour.' Yeah. Right. What kind of mastermind doesn't have a plan? I came here, without a plan, why? Because I was scared. I did it purely on spur of the moment. I don't usually get scared. But the truth is I was. I was scared because I'm not working for Ra's al Ghul. I haven't for a while, actually. I am now working for the Association. Was. Now I don't work for anybody. The Association is far more dangerous than Ra's al Ghul ever was. And unlike the League of Shadows, the Association did not have any ill-conceived thoughts that there was any chance they were doing the world well. And now they're after me. So, I was on the run not only from the law, but the most unlawful organization out there. I knew that I endangered anyone I came in contact with. I didn't mind. I enjoyed a little chaos, but the kind of apocalyptic notions the Association had where far too insane for my liking. And if they ever caught me, they'd make my fear toxin seem like a sweet escape. Yes, I was scared. I was scared of the Association. But I wasn't about to let anyone know that, especially that mysterious Ebony Willow.

At two-thirty I got up, half-asleep, from my seat in the kitchen. I didn't know where my feet had taken me until I heard her breathing. I stood right beside Ebony's bed. I crouched down beside her, and briefly thought of raping or killing her, then I remembered her smile when she turned around and asked me if I liked bergamot, and my whole mind-set changed. I don't know why it did. I didn't know a lot of things lately.

I don't think she meant to smile. I'm not even sure if she knew she did it. But I _did _know that I may take her hostage, or I may steal her, but I won't hurt her. Ebony has a heart too pure for even me to damage. For some reason, I just couldn't conjure up a thought or way of hurting her.

I looked at the green neon light of her clock illuminating her pale skin. I took a moment to admire the flawlessness of it, her long lashes, high prominent cheekbones, sharp jaw-line, full lips, smooth neck‒I stopped myself before I could look any lower.

_Get a damn grip on yourself!_

When I looked at her clock it was already three. I hadn't realized how long I'd been watching her sleep. I stood up and left the room for the sitting area. I settled on the couch, unused to a comfortable place to sleep, and went out like a light.

I awoke five hours later. Ebony was still asleep. I tried once again to make sense of the situation, but no matter how hard I tried, I could not. And with all my degrees, and all my experience, I could decipher the mystery that was Ebony Willow. And it seemed that this mystery was dragging me with her, until I became a mystery even to myself. And as I came to this revelation, all the memories of the past crashed down at once; those treacherous early years, the complications that came with adolescence, the confusion and angst, being lost not of physical nature but of my soul, of choosing a path that I knew could help me forget.

_Who am I?_

As I asked this of myself, a single tear slid out the corner of my eye and down my cheek, along with the knowledge that no matter how hard I tried, as long as I was in the company of Ebony Willow all the work I'd done to bury those memories and feelings will be destroyed. My secrets will be dug up and brought to light. And if that is so, then the Jonathan Crane the world knows today may never be the same.

**Yay! Three chapters to kickstart the launch of my first FanFiction! **

**I'm sorry for it being so short agian, I just can't seem to (sadly) pull up a longer chapter from Crane's POV. I'll try harder the next time. Expect the next update next Thursday AT THE LATEST.**

**Thanks for taking the time to read my story so far and please review!**

**Thanks,**

**Cat ;)**


	4. The Cause

**HEY! I am so sorry for the delay! Real life just sorta got into the way. So, here is the long (hopefully) awaited next chapter!**

**Thanks to those who followed! Please read and review!**

**Chapter 4's Song: United States of Eurasia- Muse**

Chapter 4:

**The Cause**

Ebony Willow~

I woke up to the sound of footsteps. This confused me because I live alone. I pondered this for more than a few moments before last night's events came back in a rush. I slowly connected the dots in my head and formed an image; Jonathan Crane.  
Fuck. What was I thinking? Oh, right! I wasn't. My stupid human rights activist and believer-that-there-is-some-good-in-everyone self took over when the rational one was still half asleep and trying to catch up with what the hell was going on.

I then became aware of warm sunlight on my face and began to panic. I looked at the clock, praying I'd see something other than what I knew I would.

9:42 am. "Shit!" I needed to be at work. Everything that happened last night caused me to sleep in. Wait.

I'm taking the week off.

That still didn't relieve me. They'd be wondering where I am. I could get fired. But before they fired me, before they know for sure I'm home, they might send someone to check if I am here. Or even alive. Governmental and political employees weren't uncommon to go missing in Gotham. I have to get up and call my office, call in sick for the week. I cannot let anyone come to the house.

"Okay, first things first. Get up." I whispered to myself. I slowly rose up, carefully flipping the covers off my legs, and got out of bed. "Good. Now go to the drawer and pick out some underwear and pants." I walked over to my dresser and got a black lacy bra and matching panties from the top drawer. Then I crouched down and opened the bottom drawer, extracting a pair of black running pants from the slightly jumbled mess of clothing items. "Now go to your closet, Ebony. You need to pick out a top." I continued silently giving orders to myself until I was fully clothed. I wore a modest silk button up, short-sleeve shirt. Nothing fancy, just casual in a classy way. Finished white ankle socks. I then walked to my nightstand and dialed the office, with renewed purpose, if only to save my life as I knew it from crumbling due to one small house visit.

The dial-tone continued for what seemed an eternity before the line finally connected and ringing replaced the dull sound. It rung three times before picked up by my intern.

Everybody seemed to need interns lately. The news reporter, me, I even briefly wondered who would fill in for Jonathan now that he was unavailable. Then Alice prompted me to speak or else she was hanging up.

"Alice! Sorry, it's me." I purposefully made my voice sound weak.

"Ebony? You sound terrible, are you alright?"

"Yeah, I just have the stomach flu, that's all. I slept in and decided to call in sick so that I wouldn't contaminate the office or get anyone else sick. Plus, I don't think I'll be fit to man the phones with running to the bathroom every five minutes and all. In fact, I should go soon. I'm starting to feel nauseated again." I groaned slightly for effect.

"Oh, no! That's horrible. Don't worry, take as much time off as you need." Then a teasing note entered her voice. "Just don't be gone for more than a week!" I laughed weakly. That's our joke in the office. The mayor tells us to take as much time off as we need if we're sick so that we don't infect anyone else, but every time someone takes _more_ than a week off they get in serious shit.

"Okay, Alice. I won't." I let the smile leak into my voice so she knows I am also teasing. But still, we both know I'll be back within a week if I want to keep my job.

"Get well soon, Ebony!" we bid our farewells and hung up.

Now, to get to the bathroom. That means I have to leave my room. And although my sleep clouded/deprived mind had been at ease last night, I was not nearly as brave this morning.

There was a _fugitive _in my house, for God's sake!

I cracked open my door about an inch and peered out. Though I still heard footsteps, Crane hadn't made an appearance yet. I took this as a good sign and swung my door fully open then dashed to the bathroom, locking the door behind me.

I turned the tap on and splashed a bit of cold water on my face.

Another cliché. It didn't help one bit. I decided to turn the running water into something useful and began brushing my teeth, making sure to turn the tap off while physically brushing.

After I'd finished that, I brushed my auburn coloured hair, briefly searching for those few rare strands of gold that made it light up in the direct sunlight. I decided to leave my hair down.

Next I did my make-up. I applied just the right amount of blush to my too pale face. Light eye-shadow, a thin line of teal eye-liner, mascara, and finished with tinting my lips a few shades redder. I started at my reflection, at the light make-up and casual attire. I suddenly felt terribly under-dressed, considering Jonathan's more professional tastes, then quickly dismissed the thought, for I was unable to find logic in why I had thought it in the first place. I stared my reflection in the eyes, challenging myself to come up with an answer, but coming up short.

As I was staring myself in the eyes, I noticed the colour of my eye-liner enhanced the deep emerald of my eyes, and that they were almost vibrant enough to match Jonathan's, when suddenly my reflection appeared as if I had done over-kill on the blush and I scolded myself for thinking of his eyes.

Unable to bear my own reflection any longer, I bolted from the bathroom and into the living room.

Without looking up to see where he was, I began talking. "I'll just run up to the attic to grab you some fresh clothes and then-" I stopped because I had finally looked up from the floor and what I saw startled me. Crane was lying on the couch, shoes off, feet up, and toying with a gun. A gun that looked suspiciously like the one I had confiscated last night. I swallowed once, yet again doubting my earlier judgement. "Where did you get that?" I asked cautiously, gesturing with one hand that I meant the gun he was holding.

He held it up so I could get a better view. "Oh, this?" he held it a little higher still. Then he smiled. It was a very knowing smile and I didn't like it at all. "Oh, you see, this isn't the gun you…disabled, last night. This one came from, well where the other one did. Some Officers who tried to lock me up." He laughed a bit to himself, as if he were recalling a fond memory. "And don't worry. There are more where this came from." He put the gun down on the coffee table and stood up, taking a deep breath, then two steps towards me.

I stood my ground, even though I was still questioning my earlier judgement. I ran through all the possibilities in my head of what might happen if he came closer, and suddenly became aware of the wall about a foot behind me. I was trapped if he got too close.

Crane noticed my slight distress and made this to his advantage. He began walking at a more-than-leisurely pace toward me. "Ebony," his tone was conversational. "I am running. I am running from the law. And…_someone_ else. Now, I don't know _how_ your think this arrangement is going to work, but I am telling you right now that you are not in charge anymore. I am. And I suggest that you do exactly what I say if you value your life." At this I gave him a half-startled, half-terrified expression and he clarified. "Ah, I'm sorry." He quickly and seemingly sincerely apologized. "_I_ would not be the one to do you harm. It's of no use to me if I _did_ hurt you. No, it would be the other person-uh, _people_, sorry-that I am running from. When-if-they find me, it will not work out well for either of us. They will not hesitate to kill you, or worse.

On the other hand, if the government finds me, it will be _you _who's keeping me alive."

It took a moment for the meaning of his last statement to sink in. Then I finally got it. "So, either those other _people_ find you and we _both_, worst case scenario, die, or the law finds you and you hold me hostage?" The world tilted slightly to the left. What had I gotten myself into?

"Precisely!" he looked almost proud of me, that I'd figured it out.

Suddenly an ice cold fear gripped my stomach. "No. No, I don't think-I don't have to do that." I managed to stutter.

His ice-like eyes that had been fairly neutral up until now flashed with anger. "Ebony," this time his tone was a warning. "Do not try me…" he said very slowly.

I still refused, despite his loaded warning. "No. This is my house. I can call the police at any time, and you can't stop me." I hated how my voice sounded so weak and desperate. So unlike me.

Suddenly he was right in front of me. He grabbed my wrists and he pushed me back against the wall, pinning my wrists, one on each side of my head. I squirmed feebly. "Did you not hear _one_ word that I just said?" he asked, anger plain in his voice. I nodded numbly. God, I was an _idiot! _I _had _to prove to myself I could be a martyr, I _had _to always try to do the right thing, even when that right thing was wrong in its own way. And now, because of my _stupid_ pride, and my _stupid_ compulsions, I was probably going to get myself killed. Or at the very least, seriously injured because I had a _psycho outlaw in my house!_ And that's why my wrists are going to be bruised, and maybe even my neck if Crane decides to choke me, and… wait a moment. I focused on him. Noted his angle towards me, his posture, his expression, the closeness of his body, and how I felt about it. I decided I definitely didn't like it. He was way too close for comfort at this point. Now I focused on my pinned hands. Then I realized with a shock, as I was doing inventory on any injuries acquired like bruises, that Crane wasn't trying to hurt me. I looked him up and down without moving my head and saw he was holding back most of his strength. I could see it in is posture. Jonathan Crane, though he may look weak with his slight frame, was stronger than most would assume.

Crane let out an exasperated sigh and let go of my left wrist, replacing his now free hand on the side of my head. I took a sharp in-take of air and stood rigid, afraid to move. Jonathan bowed his head slightly, not looking at me. I tried very hard not to think of where is sight would be redirected with this new angle of his head, but utterly failed.

He moved his hand a little lower, placing it now on the spot where my neck meets my shoulder. We stayed like this for what felt like an extremely long time. He was the first to move. He let both his hands fall to his sides, turned his head to look at the coffee table and walked towards it. Picking up the gun, he strode from the room, not once even glancing in my direction.

I let out a long breath, unaware I had been holding it. I stood there confused for a moment before I was brought back to reality by the sound of my back door slamming shut and a deafening noise as a shot rang out. For a terrible moment I thought that Jonathan had killed himself, but dismissed that in replace of another; he liked himself too much to do that.

That fact that Jonathan was indeed still alive was confirmed to me by three more consecutive shots.

I ran to my back door, throwing it open and dashing out back to find four, perfectly round dents in the side of my shed. I looked in the opposite direction to find Jonathan pointing the gun, prepared to fire again.

"Oh. My. God! What the _hell_ do you think you're doing?!" I nearly yelled, but didn't want to attract any more unwanted attention to my house, even though the nearest neighbour was somewhere between one quarter and one half of a kilometer away in any direction. Thank God for that.

"I am assaulting your shed. Is there a problem?" he asked neutrally.

"Is there a probl-of course there's a problem! You are putting bullet holes in my shed!" I yelled this time.

"Technically they are just dents." He corrected.

"Technically my ass! If the cops show up because someone called 911 after hearing _gunfire_, how am I going to explain this, even if you're here? Well, if you were still here we'd both go to jail. But, do you _honestly_ think that they will care if they are just dents or legit holes? _I don't think so!_"

"Well, it was _this_, or a very unattractive hole in your living room wall. And not a hole made by a bullet either!" He fired off ten more shots then dropped his arm.

I groaned. "Just…just get in the house, will you?" Crane wordlessly returned to the house, closing the door delicately behind him.

"Ugh…I never imagined he would be such a pain in the ass." I mumbled quietly to myself. I then slowly made my way inside, carefully listening for police sirens but hearing none.

Inside I found Jonathan sitting at the kitchen table looking considerably tired. "So, do you want to tell me what the past five minutes was all about?"

He let out a lengthy sigh, and turned to me, his eyes guarded once again. "That was too many emotions built up too fast and released much too quickly and improperly."

I looked at him with incredulity. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Make of it what you want, but I'm not telling you again." His tone was dismissive.

Now I sighed. I was beginning to learn that it was pointless to ask too many questions with Crane, so I left it at that and returned to the comfort of my bedroom.

As I lay on my bed, deep in thought, I decided it was time to trash those old Amnesty International letters. They were just a painful reminder of how things used to be. So I got up, grabbed the papers off my desk, and made my way to the kitchen to throw them in the recycling. As I slowly let each page flutter sadly into the bin one at a time, Jonathan watched me intently. When I was finished I looked down at the abandoned papers with sorrow.

Crane shifted uncomfortably in his seat and I turned my gaze on him. "What?" I asked, slightly annoyed he had interrupted my personal moment. Those letters had meant a lot, and it's a touchy subject with me. They were my last hope of resisting against the Society. A last stand, a final "screw you", and now I don't even have anything left to fight for.

"Th-those are Amnesty letters, yes?" he asked hesitantly, sensing my irritation.

"Yeah, why?"

"Jesus." He cursed quietly to himself. Then, in a louder voice and a more matter-of-fact tone, "Well, you and I are more alike than I had thought."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" I've been saying that a lot lately. "We are nothing alike." I said with the same tone as his.

"Oh, but we are. Don't you understand? You and me are the same! Now, the common speculator can make all the assumptions he likes, but just because you work for the government and I am an outlaw, it does not mean we don't fight for the same cause. It may be insane, yes, but our mission is the same."

"Did you hear anything that just came out of your mouth? Hello? You _are_ an outlaw, and I _do_ work for the government. How could we _ever_ be the same?" I was floored he would even suggest such an outlandish matter.

Jonathan groaned, as if it was frustrating him that I wasn't grasping the concept. "You fight for the cause in a civil way. You keep to yourself and write your Amnesty letters. Or, you used to. You fight for others. I, on the other hand fight for myself. If I don't do that first, I can't do anything about the invasion of the Society. And I _know_ you are just as happy about the Society as I am. Anyways, therefore, I must fight in a slightly less civil manner. Considering I am currently an outlaw." He smiled as if he had just given a very effective lecture.

I squinted at him, scrutinizing, and then asked the question that has plagued me since he started this conversation. "What is this cause we both supposedly fight for?"

A mischievous glint entered his eyes, and a smile appeared to match.

"Freedom."

**Wow! That turned out better than I hoped. Especially the length. I hope you enjoyed the new chapter in my story, and I'd really love to hear your opinion, so _please_ review!**


	5. Guilty Conscience

***Changing the rating to M. Content is a little…well, it may creep some people out, or gross them out. I don't know, but I warned you. Just to be safe.**

Chapter 5:

**Guilty Conscience**

Jonathan~

I lying was on the couch, drowning in my thoughts. Ebony was still in the kitchen, no doubt fixing herself a cup of tea. I was alone with my thoughts. I thought about Ebony. I thought about myself. I thought about Ebony and myself. I thought about that odd feeling I got whenever she said my name, I'd never felt anything like it before. I thought about the way she changed me, she made me different, act nothing like the normal Jonathan Crane would. And now I wasn't sure which version of myself I liked better. Then I thought about the Association and what they would do to her if they found me. That thought made my chest hurt, and I didn't know why. All I knew was that I didn't like it. I tried to think of something else, anything else. Even my stupid, ignorant, abusive, fanatical great-grandmother. Nothing worked. I couldn't stop thinking about it. Finally, when the thought became too over-whelming, I swung my legs off the couch and stomped them on the ground, shattering any and all thought. After that, I just stared at the corner of the carpet and thought of nothing. I just let my mind go blank.

Big mistake.

A string of insults, profanities, and curses were thrown at me from my own mind.

'Miss me, you bastard? Goddamn you, you stupid idiot! You think you can keep her? You think you can stay here? You're wrong, Jonny. She's your‒_our_‒undoing, and you know it. Oh, and remember little ol' David? I bet she'll thank you for that one, if she ever finds out.'

The force of the rant almost knocked me over and I grabbed the coffee table for support.

_Dammit!_ All that time I spent trying to bury him, all that time spent trying to forget because I knew he wasn't good for me; gone. I had been right…the more time I spent with Ebony, the more of me becomes unearthed, because…

Scarecrow was back.

_Please. Please go away._

'No. We're going to have too much fun together.'

_No we're not. There is no "we"._

'Fine. Suit yourself. But don't you remember him? Don't you remember how we made him scream? It was delicious. But I bet your little lady friend wouldn't find it as amusing as we did.'

_I don't know what you're talking about. Now shut up, or go away._

'Don't you remember, Jonny? Ol' David down in the back alley? Oh, come on. Don't tell me you haven't noticed the resemblance yet.'

I paled.

'That's right, Jonny. Remember the terror in his eyes, his big pretty, green eyes as he died.'

I ran into the hallway and flung open two linen closets and a pantry before finding the bathroom. I barely made it to the toilet before I began retching.

Yellow, acidy bile was all that came up. My stomach was empty.

I continued retching for an eternity, then finally my stomach calmed down. I still just stayed there, crouched and gripping the toilet, waiting for my strength to return and for my pulse to slow down. I was sweating and panting, and would kill for some acetaminophen.

Ebony's voice ran through my head, quiet and dull.

_He isn't here to mind._

That's what she had said when I asked if her dad would mind if he ever found out I'd been wearing his clothes.

Then I detected the sound of soft bare feet padding down the hallway.

"Jonathan?" She called. Her voice was laced with worry.

_My fault. It's my fault._

She appeared in the doorway. Her eyes widened at the sight of me. She crossed he bathroom floor and came to kneel beside me. Concern showed clearly in her eyes. Oh, God. Why does she have to care? She should be screaming at me, telling me the monster that I am, hitting me, and throwing me at the police like bone to a dog. I clenched my eyes shut and turned away from her. She mistook this as pain from vomiting.

She put her hand on my shoulder. "Hey…hey are you alright?" her voice was like honey, sweet and golden. She was trying to console me, make me feel better, but it was a paradox; the more she tried to make me feel better, the worse I felt. And for that reason I kept my face hidden from Ebony.

She was now rubbing her fingertips in a little circle between my shoulder blades.

I squeezed my eyes tighter.

Ebony~

He looked so sick. Just another human being in pain. I ached to help him, ease his suffering.

"Here, come with me. You should lie down." I tried to make my voice as soothing as possible. I removed my hand from his back and took his left forearm, to help him up. When he was standing he meekly flushed the toilet and started walking. I still had a firm grip on his forearm, but he pulled away and waved me off when I tried to help him again, determined to walk on his own.

I walked slightly ahead of him. I led hum upstairs, checking behind every so often to make sure he was keeping up okay. The third time I did that he glared at me and I held my hands up in surrender.

At the top of the stairs I turned left and came to a door on the right hand side. I opened the door to the guest bedroom and stepped aside to let Jonathan pass.

After he gratefully collapsed on the bed I ran downstairs to get him a Gravol and some Tylenol. I also got a small paper cup from the bathroom and filled it with water. Back upstairs I handed Jonathan the small tablets and paper cup.

Jonathan frowned at the pills in his hand. "I hate taking medication." He said before popping the tablets in his mouth and chasing them with water. He crumpled the paper cup and tossed it in the garbage can beside the bed.

"I'll be one more minute." I told him and walked out of the room. I opened the door at the end of the hall and dashed up the stairs to the attic. I had to dig through a couple boxes before I found one with my dad's old jeans, then one with his old t-shirts. Wow. It's hard to picture Jonathan in anything but a suit.

When I came back in the room Jonathan looked up at me, his eyes troubled. I handed him the clothes and he paled even more, which I didn't think was possible.

"Thank you." His voice sounded dead, and he looked me right in the eyes as he said it. And for the first time they were completely unguarded, like he wanted me to see what was hidden in them. To tell me something his words could not. As I nodded and stared back into his eyes, I saw something that looked like…guilt.

Jonathan~

I let her see me then. I let her see how horrible I felt about the deed I had done. The one that had hurt her. I saw confusion flash in her eyes before she replaced it with neutrality. She had seen the guilt in my eyes and she didn't know why I showed her, or why it was even there. But at least she had seen.

"You need to eat." She surprised me. For as long as I've been here, I had forgotten eating was a necessity.

"I do? Oh, yes. I do…" I looked away.

"Um…this is going to sound a little weird but…what-what do you eat?" Ebony suddenly sounded slightly uncomfortable.

I smiled. I can't remember the last time I had done that and meant it. "Well, I eat corn, and wheat, and raw crows, and lovely lady's‒"

Her eyes widened in horror. "_Jonathan!" _I burst out laughing, which is something I've done maybe once in my lifetime and really meant it. Ebony was blushing furiously, but she herself was fighting to contain her laughter. She failed. Horribly.

Still a little embarrassed, she said, "I'm serious! I've never entertained anyone for breakfast before. Or lunch, or dinner for that matter."

"Oh, is _that_ what you're doing? Well, then. How about waffles?"

"Waffles?"

"Yes. Gourmet waffles with chocolate syrup. I've never had that before, I'd like to try it."

Smiling, she replied, "Alright. I'll go make waffles, and luckily I love chocolate syrup, so I always have a bottle around somewhere." Then she looked at me with a sincere expression, and she said with such authenticity it made me really listen, "Hey. It'll be okay. As long as we're careful they won't find us."

_We. Us._ She had taken a leap in faith using plurals. But that small act, a simple word change, made me want to trust her. What an odd feeling, trust, when you've barely ever given it to anyone ever in your life. So, I gave her a sad smile and nodded, avoiding eye contact, hoping that trusting her was the right decision.

As soon as the door shut behind her I turned on my stomach and groaned into my pillow. I had really been happy there for a moment, I hadn't been pretending. But that dark cloud hanging over my head was never far away.

_She can never know…_

'Oh, but wouldn't you love to see her reaction? That delicious rage? Then you can pull the toxin on her, she'd never know what hit her. Don't you want to hear her scream?'

_Go. Away._

'Oh, but I just got back! Didn't you miss me?'

_I swear to God-_

'You swear what? You can't kill me. Face it, Jonny. I'm part of you and you can't get rid of me.'

_ I can't get rid of you, but I can be damn sure you never get control. _

'C'mon Jonny. We _both_ know you wanna hear her scream. You want to be locked in a room with her so you can make her scream, and she won't be able to get away.'

_ Go away. _

'What's that? I don't hear a "no".'

_ I said go away!_

'Just admit it, Jonny. You want to hear her scream, and we both know it.' Scarecrow's voice which had been light and insistent, amused even, had become angry.

_Fine. Yes. I want to hear her scream, but not the way you do. Will you _please_ go away now?_

'Thank you for finally admitting-wait, what? "Not the way I do"? You don't mean…Oh, dear Jonny! You _do_ mean that!' Scarecrow laughed. It sounded malicious. 'Oh, you just gave‒' but right then Ebony came back in the room, cutting off Scarecrow. 'We'll finish this later…'

"Well, here are your waffles." She handed me a plate with two waffles on it and chocolate syrup. Then she gave me a fork. The waffles were just short of being considered drenched in the syrup. I smiled at the plate in my hands.

"I'm sorry there's so much syrup…the bottle sorta slipped." She looked almost shy. It was a look that was‒well, I didn't know what it was. I'd read a book or watched something on the television that had described that look, but I'd never felt the emotion so I didn't remember it. Now I wish I had. It was something like…endearing, but a simpler word. Delightful? No, too elegant. Sweet? No, too childish. Oh, no matter.

I just simply said, "Don't worry about." It didn't matter to me, either way. These were the only waffles I'd ever had. Ebony ran out of the room, then reappeared about a minute later with a plate of her own. She grabbed the old desk chair and brought it by the bed so we could eat facing each other. I gestured with my fork, smiling. "What is this? I feel like I'm in the hospital or something."

"Well, it's a good thing you're not." She said, also smiling.

"Oh, and why is that?"

"Because then you couldn't have my delicious waffles." She laughed a bit.

"Oh, don't flatter yourself." I said, teasingly.

She covered her mouth with her hand in mock horror. "Uh! _Hurtful._" Then she smiled. "So…what was that? Huh?"

"What was what?" I asked all innocent.

"You know what. That little comment? I got the Scarecrow reference, but seriously? I'm glad I cut you off. Was that really necessary?" Her tone was serious, but her expression betrayed her voice.

"Ah…you mean my sex reference! I understand now." I shrugged. "I thought it was worth it to throw in there." I smirked.

"Hmm…" she turned thoughtful.

"Hmm what?" I asked, genuinely curious.

"I was thinking…" she said, a sly smile on her lips.

"Oh, yes. You were _thinking_. How positively _exquisite. _Thinking about what?" she was making me work for it.

"You're the human behaviourist. Guess. If you can't I'd be _very_ disappointed in your skills, Doctor."

"Oh, you found my weakness. You're playing on my vanity. Ah, well let me think." I pretended to think, although I already knew. "I know…_pancakes." _I couldn't help it.

She snorted. "Not even close."

"Dancing." I said.

"Well, I guess you could combine the two you and make the thing I was thinking of. But you'd have to be very creative."

I laughed. "Alright. Let me guess for real this time." I smiled very slowly, and dragged it out for as long as possible. Ebony just raised an eyebrow at me. "Sex."

She smiled. "Ah, so _there's_ the genius."

"Now, why would you be thinking about sex?" I asked.

She shrugged. "A topic of thought? Why not? There's so much to think about on that topic anyway."

"Oh, do tell." I said, teasing.

"Oh, I'm not sure this is an appropriate breakfast conversation." There was that smile again.

"You're killing me, Ebony. We're both adults." I smirked.

"Fine. How about this? What's your opinion on sex?"

That woman. "Oh? So…let me get this straight. You started this conversation, letting me fully believe you had something interesting to say, and making me work for it, then just…turning the tables on me?"

She was still smiling. "Maybe."

I threw my hands up. "I should've known!"

She laughed. "I'm interested in what you think. It was the only way I figured I'd get anything out of you."

"Alright. Well, I think sex is necessary," she raised her eyebrows. "For procreation. We can't let humanity die out." She sighed and looked away, making a show of being disappointed in my answer. "_But…_but, I think it is also necessary for…" I slowly smiled before continuing. "Pleasure."

She broke out into a smile. She looked like she wanted to clap. "I agree." Her smile changed. It was very coy. "So…" she began. "When did you lose it?"

It was my turn to raise my eyebrow. I wanted her to say it. "Lose what?" I asked with the same amount of coyness.

She gave me a pointed look, but continued. "Your virginity."

"Oh, _that._ Yeah…uh, you first." I said.

"Fine…nineteen." She said it very fast. Then she looked at me and burst out laughing.

"What?" I asked, seriously wondering.

"Your eyes looked like they were going to fall out of your head!"

"Oh." It came out half a laugh. I admit, I wasn't extremely impressed with her answer. And I had a burning hatred for whoever it was with.

"Well? Now you." She prompted.

"Yeah. I'm a virgin." I think her face was worse than mine. I was struggling to not laugh.

"N-no…you? Like…you? No." Yep. Definitely disbelief. "But‒no. Can't be."

"Why not?" I asked, raising my eyebrow again.

"'Cause…well, because…you're‒you're _you!_" She began blushing.

I laughed. "Excuse me? What is that?"

She looked down. "Well, your‒it's just that‒well, it's because…um…Ugh!" She put her head in her hands, then a few moments later looked up, considerably less red. "Do you ever look in the mirror? Or do you just…have horribly low self-esteem?"

Now I looked down. "Yes, I look in the mirror quite often actually…" My voice had lost most of it's life, even I could tell.

"So?" She asked, gently.

"Most likely-definitely-the latter." I said, still looking down. Somehow through this conversation I had finished my waffles.

Ebony had finished her waffles too, and put the plate on the floor beside her chair. Then, very softly and gently, she asked, "Is there a reason for that?"

"I'd love to blame my great-grandmother. But then I'd be forgetting about my mother and my father-although I'm not entirely sure they deserve that title-and basically everyone who knew I existed." My voice had turned hard. I wish I could get that Jonathan back that had smiled, but that wasn't possible. This was the real Jonathan Crane.

She frowned at me in worry and sympathy. Wonderful.

_Now she feels sorry for me. Great. Hello black cloud._

"You aren't exaggerating." It wasn't a question, she could tell. "I don't suppose you want to tell me…"

I looked at her with a pained expression. I've never told anybody before, in my whole life. "I was born of wedlock. Let's start there. That's where the problems would've begun, don't you agree?"

She just nodded, her eyes saddening even more.

"My father took off before I was even born. I don't even know his name…and my mother? Well, when I _was_ born she dumped me on her religiously fanatical grandmother, my great-grandmother, and showed no interest in me. I never really knew her, either. Oh, but I knew my great-grandmother all too well." I had been staring off into nothing, and I returned my gaze to Ebony. She looked as if she might break from sadness, and I wondered whether that was because of the human rights activist in her, or because she really cared. I didn't allow myself to dwell on it. "She was, to say the least, abusive. I remember this one time, I don't remember exactly how old I was. Ten, maybe? And the wretch locks me in this decrepit old church full of these goddamn _crows._ And better yet, she creates this chemical that is designed to enrage any nearby crow, then sticks me in a suit previously drenched it the shit." I shook my head to clear it, then realized a tear had escaped my eye. "I'm sorry."

She shook her head ever so slightly, still looking incredibly depressed for me. "It's fine…"

"What else…well, the kids at school, on the street, in my own neighbourhood. All day, every day, for as long as I can remember living there. Which would be up until I was eighteen. They would all taunt me. 'Scarecrow, Scarecrow, Ichabod'." Recognition showed in her eyes. "Yes, you can thank them for giving the world Scarecrow.

'Ichabod', that name came from Washington Irving's short story 'The Legend of Sleepy Hollow'. The main character was Ichabod Crane. I was always the butt of the joke. They said I was too thin, lanky, fine-boned. However you want to put it. Oh, and I got many pranks pulled on me too.

I guess after eighteen years, it was sort of ingrained in my head that I was worthless, unattractive, whatever."

Ebony had come to sit on the end of the bed. She put her hand on my leg, yet again trying to help. But the clothes from her father, my confession, it was all too much, and I was brought back in time to about a year and a half ago. It was raining and about 1:00 am. A drunk man comes out the back way of a casino. Right into a dark, back alley. Right into my trap. _His_ trap. The rain plasters his hair to his face immediately. He doesn't see me hiding in the shadows, creeping towards him. He would be such easy prey. I crept closer and closer to the stumbling man, and suddenly I was right in front of him.

"Whoa. Buddy. Don't sthneak up on a guy like that. Ish not good." His words were terribly slurred. "Hey, what's wi_th_ the mask?" He put exaggeration on the second syllable of "with".

"You know, should really get home." My words were distorted and scratchy due to the voice changer in my mask. "Wait, I have a better idea. Why don't you tell me what you're afraid of?" With that I blasted his face with my fear toxin. Then the screaming began. Whatever he feared most, he was experiencing it one-hundredfold right now. Out here in the Narrows, no one would come running to this annoying drunk's rescue.

I drank in his screams. They were exhilarating. I watched as his face distorted in further fear, then looked into his vibrant green eyes filled terror. I had given him a _very_ concentrated dose, and he wouldn't be lasting much longer. Just as I thought that, his breath hitched and his eyes became desperate. He was struggling for air. Then, just as fast as he had begun screaming, he stopped, let out a last desperate gurgle, and fell limp to the ground.

In real time I sucked in a huge breath and squeezed my eyes shut. I had never felt so…guilty before. I opened my eyes and looked at Ebony's hand on my leg and felt sick to my stomach again.

"Please don't…" I said quietly. I sneaked a look at her face, and some hurt registered in it, before she covered it up. She got up, collected hers and my plate, and said simply "Pleasant conversation, Jonathan." And exited swiftly, slamming the door.

I leaned my head back and purposefully smacked it on the headboard.

'Oh, yay! She finally left. Hey, you handled that great, Jonny. You just can't seem to stop hurting her.'

_Shut up!_

'Uh, no. We still have a conversation to finish. As I had been saying before _she_ came in and rudely interrupted me, you just gave me even more reason to fight for control and fuck this whole thing up for you. Well, even more than you already have.'

_ You wouldn't._

'You know I would.'

_If you _hurt_ her, I swear to God I will kill myself _just_ to end _you.

'You're growing soft, Jonny…"

_I'm growing a heart, which is something you never let me have." _Scarecrow didn't speak again that day, and neither did Ebony.

**Author's Note: Hey! I hope you enjoyed this new chapter! I know Ebony may seem a little too comfortable with Jonathan, but you must remember that in the second chapter she had decided to help him because she is "a human right's activist and stands against injustice," and was not "going to make the world more full of hate, or let hateful things fill it up when she can do something about it," and she "know's she can do something about it." So please take that inot consideration! :)  
Also, Jonathan's history? Completely true. If you reaseach his history (and I don't expect you to) that is what you will find. To prove I'm not lying, this was my rescource: wiki/Jonathan_Crane_(New_Earth)  
Thanks for taking the time to read my story so far! Please read and review! **


	6. What to Fear?

**A/N: Hey! So sorry for the long wait! With school starting, life sorta got in the way. I will try my best to get the chapters in sooner, but I can't make any promises they'll be super speedy. I will also try not to fall off the face of the Earth or anything. Enjoy!**

Chapter 6:

**What to Fear?**

Ebony~

_That bastard! _

_ Who the hell does he think he is? Why is it that whenever I try to be nice, it backfires on me? He is just selfish, and greedy, and inconsiderate, and probably a liar._

Even as I thought it, I knew it was I who was lying. I was lying to myself. Even the most skilled actor could not summon that much anger, angst, and most of all _hurt_ so fast. That poor man had so many scars that never fully healed. It was very sad. Pure and simple.

So with each passing second I could feel my resolve crumbling, my anger fading.

Even still, I never revisited him again that day.

0-0-0-0

I woke up and heard Jonathan in the kitchen. This morning I was not confused, I was not scared. I was just simply hungry and exhausted.

Last night I had retired to my room around a quarter to five. About an hour later I heard Jonathan come downstairs and begin making something to eat in the kitchen while I was reading. I put my book down and listened to him rummaging around the cupboards for about twenty minutes until he finally went back up stairs. I continued reading for another hour then decided it was time to sleep. All that had taken place in the last thirty-six hours had really exhausted me.

Now, as I lay in bed recalling last night's events, much as I had yesterday apart from the confusion and fear, I seemed to recall a memory of screaming. It was fuzzy, and almost like remembering a thought in a dream, or the memory of a memory. I tried to focus on it, but the details skillfully evaded me. All I could half-remember was being jolted almost awake by a man's screams. But it was faint, not outside faint, but faint enough that when they cut off abruptly, I fell easily back to sleep.

It hadn't affected me then, but it troubled me now. I tried to dismiss it until at least after breakfast.

My pajamas were moderately presentable‒a black silk, knee-length, spaghetti-strap night gown, and a matching silk house coat I decided to add‒so I decided to exit the room without changing. I was honestly too tired to care.

As I walked down the hall and down the small set of stairs leading to the kitchen, the noises got louder. When I entered the kitchen, my cupboards were torn apart. Well, the little I had left in them.

"Do you not own any real food?" he asked with mild annoyance.

_How dare he be annoyed!_

I glared at him. "I need to go shopping. " I said defensively. It might have been my eyes tricking me, but I think he flinched ever so slightly when I used the word "I".

He let out a resigned sigh. "Well, then I guess you should go shopping. We can't keep living on waffles with chocolate syrup and Earl Grey tea. Not only is it extremely unhealthy, but it will get far too redundant." I laughed a bit at that, and he smiled weakly, almost sadly. Jonathan then began putting the boxes of cookies and crackers and cereal back in my cupboards, surprisingly accurate to the way they had been before he tore them apart. After he was finished he smiled to himself, apparently pleased with his good work. Then he turned to me, pointing a finger at my clothes. "If you're going out, I suggest changing out of that." He looked me up and down, moving only his eyes, very slowly. On their way back up, his eyes came to rest somewhere just below my head. They stayed there a few beats longer than appropriate. I suddenly felt naked and blushed. Again.

He smirked, his eyes flickering to my face for a moment, then he made a point of looking even lower, then finally back up to my face for good. "Well, Ms. Willow. For the length of time I have known you, I do believe I have made you blush like that more than my fair share of times."

If it was possible, I blushed even harder, then let out a very inhuman sounding, strangled noise. He smiled to himself, obviously enjoying my discomfort. I turned and ran back to my room. As I was scurrying down the hall, I heard Jonathan chuckling to himself.

I slammed the door behind me.

Jonathan~

'So, what happened to being nice, Jonny?'

I sighed as I heard her door slam. _Old habits die hard, I guess. Besides, I like making her blush. It accentuates her innocence. You should know I've always been a fan of fragile and innocent things. _

Scarecrow laughed. 'Oh, did you forget so soon? She is not "innocent". She lost that title about a decade ago.'

For the past few months I've been developing a hatred for Scarecrow, and that made it flare. _You know that's not what I meant!_

Scarecrow's snickering filled my head and I had to slam my hand on the table to quiet and make it bearable.

I didn't respond to his jeering, and Scarecrow didn't press me on the matter. I just stood there contemplating the irony of it; in one way, I am more innocent than Ebony, but in another it is the reverse.

Then the irony of Scarecrow hit me. I had been laughed at all my life, and now I was a grown man. But even part of my own mind laughs at me. Moreover, it torments me. Further proof of my insecurities. I briefly wondered if I regained my self-worth would Scarecrow change with me? Or would it have a negative reaction and Scarecrow would become bitter?

My ponderings were shattered by Ebony's door reopening, and I heard her feet padding back down the hall. Scarecrow picked this time to make a provocative remark.

Ebony~

I cautiously made my way back down the hall. As I re-entered the kitchen, Jonathan seemed to be arguing with himself.

"I-I'm ready. If you are too, maybe you should come?" I still hadn't gotten over our first morning greeting.

He looked up from the floor and smoothed his expression of agitation. "Ah, yes. Let's go, we should go." He said a little urgently. He seemed restless.

And so we were off. Almost.

As we walked to the front door, Jonathan began laughing quietly. I was not oblivious to his _condition_, and for a second I was afraid he wasn't Jonathan anymore. Even though I appeared(mostly) at ease around him, I was always a little on edge. It felt like the calm before the storm, considering I hadn't seen Scarecrow yet. So, I turned and looked at him warily.

He smiled, very slightly, just the corners of his mouth tilting up. "I'm sorry." He apologized. I wondered if that was an old habit left over from when he was younger and everyone thought him barely above a sewer rat.

"I was just thinking how ironic it is that I've been in your home for nearly two days and I have never seen your front door.

I made an _o_ with my mouth then my expression changed to something I assumed was panic. It was Jonathan's turn to give a wary glance. "I just realized I can't be seen in public with you!"

He tightened his lips in a way that suggested the phrase "too bad". "Well, then I guess I better stay here."

"Oh, no! It's fine. I'll just run in and get some sunglasses and maybe a scarf…" I bit my lip. "And I know you don't like my father's clothes‒they aren't your style preference‒but that's more reason for people not to recognize you. " He paled for the hundredth time. Is wearing casual clothes _really_ that _bad_?

Even still, he nodded stiffly and returned to the house.

By the time I was back inside he was already half way up the stairs. I wasn't sure what it was, but I got a distant feeling from him, almost like we were back to square one on the trust factor. I went to my bedroom and got my darkest pair of sunglasses. I also got a scarf to cover his hair. Though, I cringed at the thought of Jonathan Crane in a _scarf_. It just wasn't right.

When I came back out into the foyer, he was already there, dressed in slightly ripped jeans and a black button up t-shirt. He had added his black tie to the ensemble and it improved the whole outcome. The jeans were a dark gray wash, and faded. The rips we unintentional.

I suddenly wanted to ditch the scarf and I threw it to the right where it fluttered to the floor, abandoned. I walked up to him, and stood about five feet away, quietly assessing him. He saw me holding the sunglasses and he removed his own prescriptions, folding them and holding them in his right hand.

The clothes fit pretty well, but the jeans could use a belt. I opened the dark, thin-framed sunglasses, taking a few steps closer and placing them on the bridge of his nose. They fit well too. They made his cheekbones look good. He didn't move. I stepped back to assess him again.

In all honesty, I'd gotten the most formal clothes I could find, but they could be gym clothes compared to his usual outfit. Although, from my view it was the best thing I'd seen him wear. I suddenly thought that a black trench coat would complete the look and ran to my hall closet. I searched for my old Christmas gift disaster.

A couple years ago my aunt living in Holland decided to send me a Christmas gift that year. A black, uni-sex, two-sizes-too-big trench coat. I figured it would fit Jonathan well enough. It wasn't my style, but it would look good on him.

After I'd found it, I took it off the hangar and brought it back to Jonathan. I held it out for him to take and he picked it up delicately.

"Your father's?" he asked

"Mine." I corrected. "But never been worn."

He nodded and put it on.

My fashion instincts proved incredible. He looked like a god with the stark contrast between the dark clothing and his flawless, pale skin. His hair had gotten a little messy, and could probably use a shower, but it almost improved the look even more.

Jonathan cleared his throat, and I realized I had been staring. By some miracle, I managed not to blush. "That's good." Was all I said, then turned on my heal and hurried out the door again. He followed, closing the door behind him, and I locked it. I went to my car and got in the driver's side of the shiny, black Corvette, keying the engine. Jonathan managed to mostly conceal his surprise as he got in the car and closed the door. "Working for Parliament; large salary; really nice cars." I stated. He nodded. He seemed to be enjoying the luxurious black leather interior and I turned on the heat to fight off the chill of the fall air.

As I backed out of the driveway, Jonathan flipped his visor down and opened the mirror, getting his first look at his new attire. "What did you put me in?" he asked with slight horror. "I look extremely underdressed. You could have at least let me keep my jacket on."

"You would've been too obvious. No one will recognize you now. Besides, you may not believe it, but you look great." I encouraged.

"In this I _pray_ no one recognizes me…" he said, ignoring my comment. He flipped the visor back up.

"Pray? So you're religious now?" I asked, only half teasing.

Jonathan scoffed. "Of course not. I don't waste my time with such pointless fantasies. I only praise logic and the mind's power over the body."

_Spoken like a true psychologist._

In lieu of voicing my thought, I nodded.

The rest of the ride was fairly quiet, apart from the occasional psychological comment from Jonathan on one issue or another, and my intermittent almost-angry comments at bad drivers.

When we arrived at the local grocer, I parked in a reasonably convenient spot and we both got out of the car. We began walking toward the store entrance.

The weather was cool, with gray clouds obscuring the sun, yet no rain. Moderate winds. Quite normal for mid-October.

"I love this time of year. It's so fresh, cool but not cold. And lots of colour with the leaves changing. It's a beautiful transition period." I said suddenly.

"Well, for me it is quite the opposite," he started as he buried his hands in his coat pockets and hunched his shoulders against the wind. "It has to be my least favourite time of all. Especially with Halloween approaching." He sounded bitter-sweet.

"Why's that?" I asked, curious.

He stopped walking and turned to me. I stopped walking and faced him. His expression was grim. "Please don't ask me that. You don't want to know right now, and I do not wish to relive the memory."

"Okay. I understand." I said gently. I did understand. I had a few of those memories myself.

Jonathan started to say something, but he stopped and looked over my head, and expression of sheer panic on his face. He removed the sunglasses, still looking over my head. I turned around and saw a dark alley between the grocery store and the pharmacy next door to it. But there was nothing there. My eyes must have been deceiving me because everything suddenly felt wrong.

"Jonathan, what is it? What's wrong?" I asked, trying to keep my voice level.

His eyes wouldn't leave that spot above and beyond my head. Both his hands grabbed my shoulders and turned me toward the store entrance. "Ebony, go inside. I'll be there in a minute." He gave me a gentle push in the direction of the grocery store, his eyes still staring beyond me, his voice commanding. I started to protest, but he tore his eyes from their fixation and drilled their icy power into me. They were the coldest I'd ever seen them, and it frightened me. "_Go." _He said with more force.

This time, I listened. I began sprinting for the doors, all the while feeling his cold gaze watching me.

Only when I was safely enclosed in the building did he look away. Through the Plexiglas I saw Jonathan walk into the dark alley between the stores, and out of sight.

**A/N: Sorry this was shorter than the last two chapters, but if I had kept writing the chapter would have been _way_ too long. Please review! Remember: reviews keep this fic running. And you never know, maybe I'll throw in something special, a missing chapter, an extension, if you guys are super special and give me lots of reviews! I love to hear what you think, and if you have any suggestions please tell me! Thanks for reading!**


	7. Overture

Chapter 7:

**Overture**

Jonathan~

If that's who I think it is, this will not end well...

My great-grandmother always told me I'd be a failure, and if not, anything I did in life would come back to bite me in the ass. And if that's who I think it is, my great-grandmother's crude prediction will come true.

I slipped into the alley between the stores-the super-market and a drug store-then stopped for a moment, removed my sunglasses, and let my eyes adjust. Once they had, I continued onward toward the person's silhouette in the darkness. I stopped before them. The figure's face was obscured by the dark hooded cloak he wore. As I had expected, it was a messenger from the Association.

The figure removed it's hood, revealing a rather old man, devoid of all visible hair except think eyebrows. "Hello, traitor." he greeted with a gravelly voice.

I decided it was not best to beat around the bush. "I know you, the Master, and the entire Association believe that I betrayed you. I do not confirm nor deny that belief. I just ask that you say what you are here to say, and leave me in peace."

Instead of taking my suggestion, the messenger thought it better to interrogate me with useless questions like 'Why are you here' as in at the market, and 'Do you believe I should let you go'. Then he took me aback, appearing to be finished with his pointless questions. "The girl; you care for her in some strange way. Any caring feeling is strange for a man who does not care." This wasn't even a question, it was a statement.

Oh, how I missed my toxin then.

It was back in an old warehouse in the out-skirts of Gotham, and a place that I couldn't go without risking being thrown back in Arkham. I could not endure that mad house again. It was a living, breathing hell.

In the moment of being shocked and having a lack of toxin, I replied numbly, "I am growing tired of your petty inquiries," Then as an after though, I added, "And I do not care for her." I tried to sound as insistent as possible.

He seemed satisfied with that answer, which I wasn't entirely sure was a good thing or not. "Leave by eight o'clock tonight, or we will come find you and she dies. I think it would be better if you were to settle things with the Master when you were by yourself. You wouldn't want to drag her into the middle of your quarrels. Do you?"

I shook my head, in spite of myself.

"You understand then?"

I nodded, and I felt as if I wasn't in control of my actions. Right now I despised the Association, I despised this worthless old man, and most of all I despised Ebony Willow for what she was unknowingly doing to me.

The messenger smiled, flashing yellowed teeth. "Good" was all he said before he replaced his hood and retreated into the shadows.

I replaced my sunglasses, turning around and walking out of the alley.

After the darkness of the alley, the daylight was harsh and I was grateful for the sunglasses. I checked my watch. The conversation had taken much longer than I had anticipated, and had left me a little more conflicted than I cared to admit.

I turned the corner and made my way into the grocery store, which from the inside looked much like a Wal-Mart in which the produce section had invaded.

I looked around and tried to spot Ebony's fiery hair, with little success. I decided to wait by the entrance.

Leaning against the wall, I folded my arms around my mid-section, prepared to wait.

Ebony~

Carrying five shopping bags and a jumbo pack of toilet paper, I frantically tried to find Jonathan after checking out. I had waited five minutes by the door before I decided to start shopping. It was now thirty minutes since I left the door.

Yeah, I was worried.

After another ten minutes of searching I saw his tall frame leaning against a wall by the entrance from half-way across the store.

I started running as fast as the heavy bags and four inch heels would allow me.

He didn't see me until I was right beside him, and he smiled slightly at everything I was carrying. "You're quite the multi-tasker."

I smiled meekly, still struggling to keep everything up and he then relieved me of two bags and the toilet paper. As soon as I had a better grip on my remaining three bags I said, "What the hell was that about?" It was loud enough to grant me a few stares from strangers.

He grabbed my left forearm and started dragging me out of the store. "We need to go. Now." Is all he said.

He basically dragged me all the way to the car, his long legs giving him a large advantage in stride, and left me nearly running to catch up with him. As we neared the car, he told me to get in it. I quickly unlocked the car and put the bags in the back seat, and Jonathan did the same.

Obviously something was wrong. What, however, I did not yet know.

When we were both in the car he commanded me to drive, and I quickly obliged, remembering the power over me he had demonstrated yesterday morning.

When we were out of the parking lot, I tried again, "What happened back there?" This time, though, with remarkably less force.

He let out his breath as if he had been holding. He swallowed forcibly, his body language tense. "Nothing. Just drive."

Direct denial. Not a good sign. Something had happened that had disturbed him. Put him out balance, mentally. I could help him. Talk to him. Reassure him, the regular drill when dealing with a mentally unstable person. He needed my help. I wanted to help him. It would be so easy to just reach over, and with the simple gesture of touching his arm, his hand maybe, and giving a few helpful words to comfort.

We drove in silence.

Jonathan~

When we got back to the house, Ebony handed me a bag that she told me was mine, gave me a look that said she knew something was up, and retreated to the kitchen to put the groceries away.

I decided to go to my room‒when had I started referring to it as my room?‒and sort through the contents of the bag Ebony had given.

When I got to my room, I put the bag on my bed and started taking things out and laying them down in a line. What I found was; a comb, a toothbrush, a bottle of men's shampoo, deodorant, another black button up short-sleeve shirt, and a belt. It seems she had thought of everything.

I gathered everything up and made my way to the bathroom. A towel was waiting for me.

I locked the door.

I checked the time as I removed my watch. It was already two o'clock. I sighed as I began removing the clothes I was wearing, They made me feel sick every time I thought of their origin.

I folded then denim pants and put them on the sink, along with my new shirt. I placed my ties and underwear with them too. I checked to make sure my glasses were still in the pocket of the jeans.

I then stepped into the spacious shower, grabbing the shampoo and turning the water on, as hot as it would go. The luxury of hot water had not been granted in Arkham, and the privacy was infinitely better than the communal shower room.

I went through the mindless motions of washing, my thoughts turning to more pressing matters. What was it, exactly, that Ebony was making me feel? As far as feelings went, I was quite acquainted with fear. Anger I have felt many times. But my knowledge was limited to about that, in my own heart. I knew feelings like the back of my hand in others, but in myself…well, I didn't tend to have many. The fact that Ebony was making me feel something alien to me, in truth, frightened me. I didn't like not knowing things.

I thought about when I was with her. Whatever she made me feel, was a strong emotion. Like earlier when she was frustrated with me. I had felt something string then. Not hurt, or annoyance, like the average person would experience. The thing that I felt was almost like…admiration. A very strong admiration. Almost to the point of desire.

With a jolt that felt like electricity running through my synapses, I had a flash back of Sherry. My first reaction to the memory was distaste and rage. I was angry at myself for even thinking of her. But then came a dawning realization. The realization that, although much less intense than now, what I had felt then for Sherry felt like the same emotion Ebony was drawing out of me.

And that was exactly why I had to stay away from her.

I could not endanger her. Her simply knowing me puts her at great risk already. If anything were to happen between us…No. I would not let it happen.

Besides, I resented this not-so-alien feeling. I believed it was a useless emotion. It got in the way of things, and was horribly repulsive. And childish. Oh, so childish. And that was something I most definitely was not.

So, with my mind made resolutely up, I got out of the shower, got dressed, and got ready to tell the biggest lie of my life.

When I came into the living room, Ebony was on the couch reading George Orwell's _1984._ My favourite, next to Washington Irving's short story, _The Legend of Sleepy Hollow_.

Then I remembered my purpose and started walking toward the door. I walked slowly, uses the excuse that I didn't want to seem rushed, but honestly I wanted Ebony to talk me out of leaving.

"Where are you going?" She sounded slightly panicked.

The sooner I got this over with and left, the better. I had to do _something._ "Ebony, I need to leave. I can't do this anymore. I can't stay in one place, and I certainly can't be staying with another person. It…" I swallowed, hoping to keep my composure. "It just weighs me down. You could very likely become a liability, and I cannot afford that. I thank you for your hospitality, and I am grateful for ever making your acquaintance. But I need you to understand that this will not work anymore, and I will not do this." _Not do what? You are such a liar. _I thought to myself. I could feel Scarecrow watching. Using my eyes as a front row seat to the best live drama.

"W-what? You don't have to do this. What happened to working together? What about being free? Legally? What about our cause?" Ebony was quickly rising into hysterics. I walked over to her slowly, and gently put her arms soundly at her sides for she had raised them in an attempt to emphasize her point. She swallowed hard, looking like she was holding back tears. "B-because you were obviously held unjustly. At one point I tried to get Amnesty to take up your case. You're supposed to get out of this and live a good, long, happy life, with the girl of your dreams if you choose. That's how this is supposed to end for you. And if you walk out that door, it means I failed."

I was astonished, though I didn't show it. She honestly believed in me. Why did she always have to make things so damn hard? And besides, how does she know that's how it's supposed to end for me? She can't know my fate. For all any of us know, I'm destined to be found dead in the gutter somewhere in downtown Arkham City. That's the more likely account of what my life will end like.

I made my voice as harsh as possible, so as to get my message across clearly. "No, Ebony," I spoke firmly, but my voice still wavered slightly, and didn't cooperate as I wanted it to. "That's _not_ how this was going to end for me. _I'm the bad guy._ Okay? I'm the bad guy, and it's far too late to change that. It's too late for me. And because of that, I don't get the _fame,_ I don't get the _appreciation_, and I sure as hell don't get the _girl._ I hope I've made myself clear." I was hoping for a hard edge in my voice to end it off, make it sound convincing and cruel, but in the end all my voice did was crack. Which, if she knew me at all, is to say that I was dying inside. Yet despite all the faults I had made in delivering that speech, her face betrayed her emotions and it was easy to see that she fully believed me. She thought I was done here, done with _her._

I wanted to scream at her, ask her how she could believe all the treacherous lies I've been feeding her. How she could think I really wanted this to be over. I wanted to die. Or rip my heart out because of the physical pain saying these words was causing me, and tearing it out would most likely hurt less than what I was feeling right now. And still, despite the fact that I knew that this hurt me, despite the fact that I felt the real, tangible feelings that we both shared, I denied it the whole way. I would not let myself accept it in front of her, or then I might truly break down.

Using my harshest tone yet, I said roughly, "Ebony, le. Me. Out. I can't stay here any longer. I don't want this. I don't. Belong. Here." In spite of my words, I had leaned closer to Ebony, my face inches from her's, our lips so close just the slightest bump would put us close enough to kiss. I looked in her eyes, and replaced the stony expression I had earlier adopted with sarcastic amusement. I pulled back, and almost glared. "Good day, Ebony." I turned to leave. I was at the door when she called to me, " What makes you think that once your gone, I won't call the police? Can you afford to take that chance?" Ebony… She will never go down without a fight. A strong fight. But I had to dispel any and all hope in her.

I smirked. "You won't."

"How do you know that?" She asked, her expression now just as harsh as mine, if not more so.

"Because if you really were going to, you already would have." I turned and left for good.

'That's right, Jonny…break her little heart.' The evil in Scarecrow's voice was palpable.

_What about my heart?_

Scarecrow laughed bitterly. 'Your heart Jonny? Hell, your heart's not good enough.'

If I could have, I would've strangled Scarecrow. For his mockery. For his audacity. For his obscenity.

I walked off Ebony Willow's property, thinking how this will be the last time I step foot here, and not even once looking back.

Ebony~

I had tried to stop him from leaving. Tried my very best. But his words… I knew Jonathan Crane could be cruel, but I never thought I'd experience it so harshly. The reasons I had stated were a poor attempt to make him stay, because up until now, I never knew how complete he made me. I felt like all my life I had waited for something, and that this had been _it._ And I had let it slip through my fingers like sand. I wouldn't be getting much sleep tonight.

Jonathan had stepped out of my life as abruptly as he had stepped in. This left me feeling hollow inside, and neither tea nor Winston and Julia could comfort me tonight. Nothing could. Maybe not ever. So I resulted to sitting on the couch, hugging my knees in a numb silence, relishing the mostly emotionless feeling. Because when the numbness subsided, and reality set in, the pain would be too much to bear. I could look forward to no sleep, or a fitful night filled with endless night terrors.

**Author's Note: Oh my gosh! I am SO sorry it has taken me so long to update! I have just be so busy non-stop. But I finally got this bad boy up. I know I've probably lost a few reader's, but hopefully this update with gain me some n****ew ones. Whatever, I'll remain optimistic! Please read&review, cause the more reviews I get, the faster the next chapter comes. :) **


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